


Make Erudite Great Again

by veryconfidentsandwichshapedfreedom



Category: Divergent Series - Veronica Roth, Politics RPF
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Attempt at Humor, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Looking back on this story I really hate it though, M/M, Marco Rubio eats the booty like groceries, One of my tags ended up on wtffanfiction - I feel like a proud parent, Please Kill Me, Sex, Sorry Not Sorry, Tongue-in-cheek, Trump doesn't need any more attention than what he has now, Why Did I Write This?, so I'm just not going to add more fuel to the fire., we're going to build a wall and make abnegation pay for it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-25
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-05-30 22:48:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,113
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6445348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veryconfidentsandwichshapedfreedom/pseuds/veryconfidentsandwichshapedfreedom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Donald Trump awakens in Erudite headquarters hundreds of years in the future when Caleb's experimentation with time travel goes awry. Jeanine soon realizes that he's a valuable asset in Erudite's planned war against Abnegation, and she decides to mentor him, plotting to make him her second-in-command. Little do the three know, Marco Rubio was caught in the time warp as well and is planning his revenge against Donald.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Lost In Time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please send help I need it

A pulsating ache echoed behind Donald's eyes and nausea pulled at his throat. Where was he? The ground was far too hard to be his bed, and no matter how much he sprawled out on it, it didn't show any signs of morphing back into the warm, comfortable mattress he'd been asleep in seconds ago. Had those wetback rapist aliens finally exacted their revenge by kidnapping him? No, that was impossible. His mansion had security only a small loan of a million dollars could afford.

Donald opened his eyes, inhaling the sweet, chemical scent of lemon floor polish. He was lying on his stomach in a glass and metal room with shiny black stone tile and a high ceiling. Sunshine beamed in through a set of windows separated by slender silver beams, some of the light cast over a dilapidated city now reflecting on the shiny sheet of rock. He realized with a pang of fear that he'd never been here before. How did he get here?  ~~~~Where was _here_?

Something whirred loudly. Donald turned his head as quick as a Mexican sprinting from border control to see a tall machine that took up almost the full height and half the width of the room. A large red lever was mounted to its side, where it opened to something transparent and blue. It resembled no machine he'd ever seen before, but while admiring its structure, Donald realized he needed to leave. Find out where he'd been taken. Get back to his presidential campaign.

He spotted the door, with a little square window at the top that gave him a view of the white halls. Someone wearing a dark blue coat passed by, carrying a clear glass cube that held a microscope.

Donald gathered all the strength in his lungs, belting out as hard as he could in an effort to be heard. "I have Obamacare to repeal and ugly toupees to wear! Help me or  **you're fired!™** " 

Yet no one seemed to hear his cries. Adjusting his toupee, he lifted himself off the floor with an audible grunt. Suddenly, he heard a loud, shrill noise, like some kind of machinery. A nervous-looking boy with green eyes was watching him from the door window.

"Let me out or there will be hell toupee!" Donald shouted, seething in rage. "I am going to be a great, great president. No one can deny that!"

Convinced by Donald's obvious tact and tolerant, logical campaign promises totally not manufactured to please the common redneck, the boy jiggled the doorknob. The door swung open, and Donald stepped close to him, trying to shove him out of the way like the poor kid was Cruz the lightweight. 

"Tell me, what year is it?" the boy asked, still blocking Donald's path. 

Donald wanted to tell him to shut his mouth because his IQ couldn't be nearly as high as the Trumpster's if he didn't even know what year it was.

"It's 2016, and 2016 is a yoooge, yoooge year. The year I will make America great again and exile Obama from the White House!" Donald replied, holding his tongue. 

The boy's eyes lit up in awe. "My time machine... it worked! I'm Caleb. You'll need to follow me. Jeanine's going to be so pleased to see this, even if it malfunctioned a little."


	2. On the Streets and In the Alley

Marco lifted his head, his neck unusually stiff. Where was he? Last he'd registered, he'd been lying on the couch eating Lucky Charms while he watched Ted Cruz's dropping out speech on replay. He did not remember being face-down on the dirt in this alley at all.

He strained himself upright and looked around. Birds picked solemnly through an overflowing dumpster, scattering tufted ebony feathers in thick piles on the ground. A large, unsteady looking pile of bent scrap metal leaned against one of the buildings, radiating pale blue light. He didn't recognize a thing.

"Who the hell are you?" someone yelled from a short distance away. Marco glanced around, hands shaking, but he didn't see anyone. His heart began to pound in his chest. Hopefully, he wouldn't get mugged.  
Something moved in the corner of his vision.

Marco jerked his head around violently, but saw nothing but the empty alley. He prayed it had been his imagination. He didn't want to tangle with anyone. That would be bad for his image.

When he turned his head again, he was face-to-face with a man wearing an eye patch.

"I asked you who you were. Do I need to ask you with my fists to get an answer?" he growled.

Marco could feel the man's hot breath, seemingly as rage-filled as the rest of him, and decided then that he'd do whatever he was asked.

"Calm down. My name is Senator Marco Rubio of Florida, former Republican presidential candidate." Marco said, busting out a smile in hopes of charming him away.

"Florida? Presidential candidate?" the man asked. He stepped away, face paled. "I- what? We have factions..."

"Listen, I have no idea where I am or how I got here. Could you just help me out? I'll leave you alone, I swear."

The man paused, pondering his options. Marco hoped he'd been convincing enough. There could be trouble if he wasn't.

"Sure. I'll help you." He swiped a grubby paw through his golden hair and smiled unconvincingly, exposing yellowing teeth. Odd, for someone so young.

Marco sighed in relief, trying his best to hide it. He didn't need to give this guy more of an ego than he already had.

"Well, there's nobody else around to help me, I suppose." He paused for a moment to collect his thoughts. "Where am I?"

"Chicago."

Marco's lips trembled. There was no way he had said what he thought he'd heard.

"Chicago?!"

"Chicago."

"But I live in Miami!" Marco protested.

"I have no idea where that is or how you got here, but I doubt this 'Miami' is even there."

Marco's heart caught in his throat. His wife, his children!

"What do you mean, it isn't there?!"

The man paused and sighed deeply. "Listen, there hasn't been anything beyond the Fence in hundreds of years."

Marco opened his mouth to protest, but the man caught him first.

"There. Is. Nothing. Do not attempt to argue this. It is dangerous."

Marco longed to change the subject. He glanced at the sky, admiring the pink streaks against yellow. But it would be night soon. "It's almost sunset, and if we're really in Chicago, it's going to start getting cold. Can I stay with you while I figure all of this out?"

The man sighed deeply, regretfully. Wistfully, almost.

"You're not going to like it."


End file.
